


the cold comfort of the in-between

by abvj



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M, Set pre-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:59:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/pseuds/abvj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The other time.</i> It is just as complicated as one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cold comfort of the in-between

“About the other time –” 

Donna stops him there. She is a firm believer in the notion that lines are meant to be toed, tested, and crossed. But this one, this bold, jagged, messy wall they’ve constructed between them and _then_ can’t be. Not now. 

It’s just easier this way. 

 

 

 

 

 

Harvey presses a file into her hands, his fingers lingering against hers as he hovers over her desk. Donna glances up at him, takes in the sag of his shoulders, the slightly crooked tie, the lavender shirt. His mother is in town. Donna knows this because she’s spent the last week fielding her phone calls, making excuses, and delivering messages to a son who wished he could care less. Donna knows this because she was forced to act as a buffer, as Harvey’s anchor during a particularly painful lunch that lasted about one lunch hour too long. Now, in the aftermath, she offers him a smile that is meant to soothe. He smiles back and she reads the gratefulness in the way the gesture reaches his eyes. 

“Have you eaten?” he asks. She sets the folder to the side, watches as he balances his weight on the edge of her desk. 

“If that is your way of asking a girl out to dinner, I think you might want to work on your delivery,” she sing-songs, but she’s already shutting down her computer and reaching for her purse. This is something sort of akin to routine with the two of them. 

“Come on,” he says, almost smirking. He stands, reaching for the jacket on the back of her chair. His lack of smart-ass reply gives way to just how exhausted he truly is, and she thinks about goading him into an argument just so they’re on common ground, just to pull him out of his own way, but she’s tired too. It’s been a long week. She also really, _really_ doesn’t like his mother. “I’ll take you to that sushi restaurant you like.” 

“You don’t even like sushi,” she points out. 

“Yeah.” He helps her into her jacket, his fingers brushing against her shoulders as he does. “But _you_ do.” 

On the way to the elevator, she tells him something funny about Louis just to see him smile. His fingers find home near the small of her back as she guides the way. 

 

 

 

At dinner, he orders an expensive bottle of red just because he knows she’ll like it. She drinks too much, segues straight into whiskey after the bottle turns empty, matching him drink for drink as they trade sports stats, trivia, and movie quotes like they were doing battle in the courtroom. 

It ends in a draw, and afterwards he gives Ray the night off and walks her home because Harvey has always been capable of being a gentleman when nobody is around to see. The alcohol hums under her skin, loud and ferocious and full of white-hot heat. She’s drunk, or nearly there, she thinks. At least enough so that she doesn’t realize how close he is, how warm he feels beside her until they are nearing her front door, until he is leaning past her to hold it open, his body brushing against hers. 

_Donna,_ he breathes, just her name, and the weight of it, the lowness of his tone and the way he looks at her causes something to spark and ignite in the base of her spine. 

Her mouth goes dry. 

 

 

 

The rumors followed them everywhere – from the cracked and fading walls of the DA’s office all the way to the sleek, polished ones of the firm. In the beginning, there were glances, whispers, rumors started by colleagues and enemies alike. They would never go away, not really. They just become better at ignoring them. 

Everybody asked her _at least_ once, “Have you ever, _you know?”_

Donna merely laughed. 

Anyone who actually knew them saw the truth: it would always be so, so much more than that. 

 

 

 

Donna’s been here before, in these types of moments where time stretches on and on and gives her a fairly accurate glimpse of where this is going – his mouth against hers, his weight between her thighs, a familiar arching of backs. Donna has been here before with men who could never be Harvey, with men she liked simply _because_ they could never be Harvey. She would never admit it aloud to anyone, perhaps not even to herself, but she is a woman, all too human, and she has let herself become lost in imagining would it would be like, how it would feel to be here in this sort of moment with him. She has thought about how it would be to have him so close she can feel the burden of every breath as they press into her skin. To be close enough so all she would have to do is lean _up up up_ and feel the weight of his mouth slide against hers – slowly at first, cautiously, as they get to know one another in this way too. 

Peering at him here and now through softening eyes, she can see the question, the want, the _need_ in the way he stares at her. It leaves her breathless and she swallows thickly, already tasting the bit of whiskey on his lips, feels herself pressing against her toes until her eyes are nearly level with his. 

It’s wrong, and she knows it. Knows there is a reason they have never ventured down this road before – it’s her and it’s Harvey, and they’re more than this, always have been. 

_Harvey,_ she murmurs, the consonants and vowels and whatever else she thought she might say then sticking in the back of her throat. She goes to pull away, to do the right thing, but he reaches for her, bridging the distance, his fingers warm and solid and oh so familiar as they trace the bone of her cheek. Everything in the distance goes soft, her vision hazy and blurry around the edges as he leans in and in and in until his lips are just a breath away from the corner of her mouth. 

And she should pull away, she really should. Donna knows she should, because it is all too easy to take advantage of a quiet and unassuming moment, but the aftermath – 

She was right. Harvey tastes like whiskey when he kisses her. 

 

 

 

Once they’re inside the sanctuary of her apartment, she laughs a little when her back hits the door with a sound thud, when his hands fist and curl and pull at her hair. Their lips meet at the corners as he grins against her mouth, and their bodies fit against each other in all the right places. Donna is bone where he is muscle, soft curves to his jagged edges. The first thing she does is open her mouth against his, allowing the flick of her tongue against his to betray every intention, every want and need. The second thing she does is curl her fingers into the silk of his tie, pulling until it loosens and unravels. He laughs at this, as does she, and she runs her hands along the skin of his neck, feels his pulse quicken under her fingertips. 

Kissing him is everything she expected it to be. It is also nothing she expected it to be. His mouth is soft, but hot, unyielding, but also gentle, and when she tilts her head for better access, she swears she can feel his grin in her teeth. At her hips, his hands are smooth and warm, fingers teasing the hem of her dress, slipping between to trace the subtle line of muscle. They dance along her thighs, seeking warmth, and Harvey sighs against her mouth a little when he finds what he’s searching for. It makes her nervous with anticipation. Donna digs her nails into the fabric at his shoulders, presses her eyes shut tighter. 

_All those wasted years,_ she thinks, but does not say. 

Eventually one of them has to pull away. It’s him, and as he does a hand reaches to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. His fingers brush against her cheek again. Her lips part to say something – she doesn’t know what, can’t even really fathom the act of forming words – and it’s intimate, this moment, sharing this space with him, and when he closes his eyes, when he leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, her breath hitches in her throat. 

This pause, this respite is a second chance, similar to the one that happens before every kiss, that stretch of time when you can choose to move forward or on. Harvey is giving her an out, always the gentleman when she least expects it, and Donna knows she should take it. She knows she should move away, smooth her hands over the lapels of his jacket and apply just a slight amount of pressure to push him backwards and place some much-needed distance between them. Donna knows this because there has always been a line drawn between them, one that boldly proclaims _do not venture here,_ and they’ve been toeing it for so long now they can do it from muscle memory alone. Donna knows this should end before it even begins, knows he does too because he’s standing before her waiting for permission instead of merely taking what he wants. But then his fingers leave her hair, skim over the smooth column of her neck, trace the slight bone at her collar and something shifts inside her. 

Donna _wants_ this. The weight of this fact settles deep in her belly, coiling deftly before igniting and spreading from head to toe and everywhere in between. 

She presses her mouth to his. Reaches to fist her hands into the short hair at his nape, pulling him closer. Something alters in the direction of things, his mouth turning hungry and furious, selfish when he opens it wider as he kisses her, _really_ kisses her. He drags his teeth over her bottom lip, snagging it, sucking softly and she gasps, feels her hips jut against his. 

Harvey moans then, the sound low and guttural, just for her, and she can taste it. It makes her head spin. 

 

 

 

The shift between them had occurred slowly. 

It took days, weeks, months, _years_. It was slight, barely decipherable to the casual observer, but it mattered all the same. 

Neither had taken the time to notice. 

 

 

 

It’s rushed, but not frantic. They move as one collective whole throughout her apartment, hands removing fabric just so they can slide against skin, tracing scars and muscle and bone along the way. It’s a conundrum really, the way Harvey’s hands smooth over every inch of her, like he is memorizing and categorizing, filing away tidbits of information for future use all the while kissing her as if he knows her. Harvey kisses her as if he knows exactly who she is, who she will always be, and exactly what she wants and needs. It scares her a little, just how much truth there may be in that statement, and Donna presses her mouth to his neck, teeth grazing the pulse point underneath just to elicit a moan from him that does much to clear the utter mess inside of her head. 

There is a joke somewhere along the line, hers not his, and he counters without missing a beat; they banter, they laugh, and it is easy, it feels right, like something they’ve done a thousand times before and something they will keep doing a thousand times after – until the mattress creaks softly under their combined weight. Until she is suddenly all too aware that she is mostly naked and he is mostly not. Harvey’s mouth quirks then, and he whispers something almost sweet, something that feels wrong coming from his lips, and suddenly, right then and there with him crawling towards her and settling between her thighs that have opened on their own accord, it feels both inevitable and irrevocable at once. 

When he kisses her again it is too soft, not what she wants or needs, so she deepens it, opens her mouth wider, curling a leg around his waist to pull him flush against her. He responds in kind, takes the lead, matches her every move, mouth rough and hungry and wanton against hers. His tongue forces its way past her lips, smoothing against the roof of her mouth, flicking against her own. 

It is better this way, she muses, as the messiness, the disorganization, the ferocity of the moment gives way to a calmness in her head that she desperately aches for. Donna allows herself to get lost then, revels in the feel of his weight and mouth and hands against her, and doesn’t realize what is happening until Harvey’s fingers are curling in the cotton at her waist, tugging and pulling with just a tad bit of haste until her panties meet his shirt and tie on the floor. 

Harvey sighs something weighted, something that feels like contentment, she thinks, and pulls his mouth from hers, lips skimming her cheek, her jaw, tugging at her ear. She mews and lifts her hips towards his, fingers working on the buckle of his belt, the zipper of his slacks; she uses her toes to push them down his legs and they end up a tangled mess at their feet. Harvey chuckles against her throat at this, the sound reverberating in her bones. He says something funny, maybe, but she can’t hear it over the sound of her heart drumming in her chest; it almost hurts. 

One of his hands travels between them, slipping between her thighs, and she gasps softly when he presses his palm against her. She hates herself too, just a little, for how wet and ready she is for him so soon. Thinks about making him work a little bit harder for it, dragging the moment out, but then he’s teasing her with one finger then two and suddenly she’s choking on a breath, forgetting how to breathe. Donna doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing with her hands, can’t see or comprehend anything outside of his fingers inside her and his mouth on her neck, so they fumble along his spine, counting bones until her palms press firmly into his back in encouragement. It’s all she can manage, really. 

His mouth moves down her body quickly thereafter, lips, tongue, and teeth leaving marks in their wake. With his shoulders he presses her knees wider, slides his tongue against the smooth line of her inner thigh, and when he finally, _finally_ places his mouth against her, Donna releases a hiss of sigh wrapped around a moan, buries her fingers in his hair, tugging and pulling so hard it must hurt. Harvey doesn’t seem to mind, though, just grins against her, flicking his tongue out to taste her as she watches. 

Donna has always liked to watch him work, has always admired the skill and concentration, the absolute attention he gives to every aspect of his job. Here and now is no different, and she peers at him through half-lidded eyes, her lips parted around the sound of his name as he teases and pulls at what little resolve she has left until she is bending both her will and her body completely to him. 

Inch by inch, Harvey opens her up to him, his eyes on hers the entire time, and somehow she had forgotten this about him. That he likes to watch her too. That sometimes she’ll look up from her desk and he’ll be smiling at her in a way similar to how he is now, and it is that thought, the idea that he’s thought about this before combined with his mouth and hands opening her wholly and completely, and his teeth against her clit that does her in. 

She comes fast and loud, one hand fisted in his hair and the other digging into the skin of his shoulder. The light filtering in from the hallway is suddenly too bright and she blinks against it a few times before she can focus on him again, her breath coming harsh, but slowly evening. He’s still watching her, mouth turned upwards in typical Harvey fashion and she wishes she could hate him in that moment, she really, truly does. 

Instead, the hand at his shoulder moves to his cheek, fingers smoothing against his brow. The smile she offers is shaky at best. 

Harvey closes his eyes, presses his smug mouth against her palm. Her throat burns. 

 

 

 

Later, his mouth is near her shoulder now, teeth sinking into the skin as she stretches to accommodate the fit of him. His tongue darts out, soothing the indentations he created just moments before. She presses her eyes closed so tightly she can see sparks in the darkness, can’t focus on anything but how full and warm and _good_ this feels. 

_Okay?_ he murmurs, somewhere near her ear. They are gentle with each other – at first. 

All Donna can do is nod and remember to breathe. 

 

 

 

Just weeks before, after his father’s funeral, she found him in his childhood bedroom long after the last guest left, baseball between his fingers as he sat on the edge of an impeccably made bed. It was a strange thing, seeing him there, surrounded by posters of his idols, the trophies of his greatest triumphs piled upon each other on top of an old wooden dresser. In the city, inside the walls of Pearson Hardman, Harvey commanded control of every venue, his presence larger than life. There, in his boyhood room, with his father’s death constantly pouring salt into old wounds, he looked small, delicate, breakable. 

It took her breath away. 

Donna sat beside him on the bed, her strong shoulder flush with his just in case he wanted a rest, in case he wanted her to carry some of the weight, even if only for a moment. She watched his hands as fingers traced the stitching of the baseball and remembered his father the way she always would: warm laughter, joke always on the tip of his tongue, the love he felt for his son evident in every word, every action. Downstairs, his mother’s voice echoed and Harvey’s shoulders tensed and then relaxed, his fingers releasing the ball to fall gracelessly onto the floor. It landed with a thud, and he moved backwards shortly thereafter, the mattress creaking under his weight as he shifted his back against it. 

Craning her neck, she glanced at him. His eyes were closed. “What do you need?” Donna asked softly. 

He didn’t answer, not right away. “I hate this house,” he said after a long moment, eyes sliding open to find hers. “Always have. But he was here, always said he would never leave, _so._ ” 

There was nothing for her to say to that, and Donna knew better than to push, to ask for things that he wasn’t capable of giving, so she didn’t. She merely pressed her lips into a thin line and slid off her heels before crawling to lie beside him on the bed, shifting until she was comfortable, until she was once again shoulder to shoulder with him. When she turned her head to look at him, his gaze was even with hers. 

“You should try to rest,” she murmured. 

His hand was steady when he reached for hers. 

 

 

 

In the morning, Donna wakes first. Slips out of bed soundlessly, showers, dresses, and starts the coffee. She goes through the motions just like she would if it were any other day, and _it is,_ she convinces herself, because this changes nothing. 

Except, Harvey sleeps through it all, face down in her bed, his arm outstretched to where her body had been, fingers curled into a fist around the cotton of her sheets. She knows these types of thing now, knows that he doesn’t like to sleep pressed up against her, doesn’t like to feel restricted in anyway, but his fingers had lingered, splayed against her hip the entire night, a physical connection between them maintained at all times. Donna knows what he sounds like when he comes, what the burden of his weight feels like as it settles over her, against her, inside of her. She knows that his mouth and hands are just as excellent as the rumors led her to believe. She knows the reality is so much better than any fantasy, and – 

“ _Hey_.” 

Donna hears his feet shuffling down the hallway before he appears in front of her, so when she looks up and sees him lingering in the archway of her kitchen, she isn’t started, is barely even fazed. Harvey smiles at her, and there is a moment where they just stand there and grin a little stupidly at each other, and it doesn’t feel awkward or different at all. 

But then he reaches up, runs a hand through his messy hair and it is what finally does startle her, what nearly does her in – the sight of his bare feet against the tile of her kitchen floor, the way his hair sticks every which way. 

His eyes catch sight of the suit she laid out just so on the back of her couch, the one Donna keeps in case of emergencies, for when he works too late and doesn’t have time to run home before court. His mouth presses into a thin line when his line of sight catches hers again, and she watches the transformation happen before her very eyes: the hardening of his shoulders, the tightening in his jaw, the sharp, hiss of an inhale as he prepares for what he assumes will be a battle. 

Crossing the distance to him, she presses a mug of coffee into his hands. She doesn’t allow her fingers to linger against his. 

“About last night,” she starts. Words fail her at every turn, so Donna simply offers him a smile that soothes, one she hopes conveys everything she wants to say, but doesn’t know how. 

“Yeah.” His hands curl around the mug, the turn of his mouth resigned. “Me too.” 

“It was a one time thing –”

“–As great as it was –” 

“–It is never to be spoken of again.” 

They’ve always been able to find the same page without much effort at all. 

It’s almost fitting that this is no different. 

 

 

 

At work, Harvey’s manages to arrive only a mere ten minutes behind her. Donna is on the phone when he strolls past, already dealing with the first crisis of the day, and when she replaces the phone in the receiver, she notices the fresh cup of coffee near the edge of her desk. She reaches for it blindly, fingers curling around the paper for warmth as she spares a glance towards him through the glass. 

He is, of course, the picture of cool and calm and collected with his neatly pressed suit and the dimple of his tie perfectly center. She can still feel him between her legs when he catches her eye. Donna does not look away. 

The light catches the line near the corner of his mouth as he smiles at her. 

 

 

 

 

 

Days and weeks and years later, Rachel asks, “ _Never_?”

The laughter catches in the back of her throat. Donna swallows around it, looks away for just a moment, out the window and towards the bright lights of the city as they blink back at her. The glass in her hand is warm against her fingers as she sets it to the side. 

“No,” she says simply, calmly. The twist of her mouth is intentional, a conscious try at deflection. She tries not to laugh at the soft and disappointed sigh Rachel offers in response. 

Donna supposes there are worse things to lie about.


End file.
